Nor return by the way you came

“You are to eat or drink nothing,

nor to return by the way you came.”

1 Kings 13:9

I walked home from the park by a different way this morning.  Not a big change; just Conrad Sauer instead of Shadowdale.  And on my way home I met a man I rarely see anymore.  He is a neighbor of ours, but lives toward the east end of the street and works nights, so he isn’t out during the day much and I guess he has already gone to work when we are out for an evening stroll.  I used to see him in he early mornings when he was coming home from work.  Around 5:30 or 6am he’d come pulling into his driveway usually just as I was pausing to put Mrs. V’s newspaper by her front door.  She lives across the street from him.  Normally we would wave, say good morning. Things like that. Maybe get as far as the weather if we were feeling chatty.  Rarely, but on occasion, he would ask about the kids. After his divorce, the conversation got even more stoic.  We would nod, raise a hand, at most our socializing would extend as far as a greeting.  Nothing more.

Now, usually my walking path is very routine.  I go east to Conrad Sauer and then turn on Londonderry back to Shadowdale and head to the park. The way home is straight Shadowdale. Basically, I pretty much return the way I came.  But this morning I was reading 1 Kings 13 about the “man of God” who was given the order not to eat or drink or return by the way he came, and when he disobeys things don’t go so well for him. So, I thought –let me try it. I will change my route a little.  See what happens.

Coming home, I noticed that the recycle truck must have come. The lids to the green bins were open and there were a few messes in the street where recycled paper and plastic and cans had spilled.   If you read my post about my red pants and picking up trash, you’ll know I am one of those neighbors who doesn’t like to just walk past a mess.  Especially when there is an open can so nearby.  So, coming around the corner I don’t normally return by I saw a few plastic bottles and cans in front of the driveway of the corner house. And a tipped over recycle bin. Without too much hesitation, I picked up the bin and started picking up the mess.  And when I finished I was feeling pretty good about myself.  I’d done my walk –burned enough calories to enjoy a croissant, I hoped—and even done a good deed for a neighbor.  This Bible stuff, it’s not so bad, I thought.

And then I saw my neighbor’s car zip into his driveway, and he hopped out wearing workout clothes that made him look like he could handle a few croissants and a jelly doughnut or two!  I have to say, he’s getting a little buff (if that’s the right word). Anyway he hops out of his car in his skintight workout pants and t-shirt and points to the street, where the truck had spilled beer cans and water bottles and shredded paper from his bin. And he starts cursing. I don’t mean calling on the gods to smite someone with a rain of fire and brimstone or frogs and locus or skin lesions and boils…eegads!  But serious drunken sailor/hammer to the thumb type cursing! He’s cursing the recycle truck and the [expletive deleted] idiots who drive it.  He was standing there, basically yelling some of the most creative expletives deleted I have ever heard outside of a Joe Pesci movie. And in his skin-tight workout pants and t-shirt he starts grabbing up beer cans and plastic bottles and throwing them violently into his recycle bin.

My gut reaction was to bend down and start helping him, but I hesitated. Anger frightens me. But, I was also a little worried that if I started helping things would only get worse.  So, I nodded my head and said, “What can you do?”  It’s a classic non-committal comment that allows an impression of sympathy and compassion without affirming the actual behavior.  I think I learned that one with my kids.

I stood there for a few seconds watching him work. Wishing that I had the spine to just bend over and pick something up.  But before I could summon the gumption, he slammed the lid of his bin closed and wheeled it away cursing again –but a little more quietly this time.

In the story, the “man of God” fails to follow God’s directions; he is tempted by another prophet to come and share a meal. And because he disobeys the Lord, on his way home he is killed by a lion.  But, oddly enough, the lion doesn’t eat him, it just mauls and kills him --then stands guard over his body (cf. 1 Kings 13:24-28) without harming the man’s donkey. In the end, when the body is found, the lion and the donkey are standing either side of it—just waiting. It is a strange and fearful ending to an odd story.

In my version, I guess there is a lion, but instead of killing me he yelled at his recycle bin and walked away. Walking home, I was a little shook up. I had this strange feeling of fear and shame haunting me. I think I was ashamed of our shared moment there. It was such an oddly intimate moment. That was certainly part of it. But also, I think I felt ashamed of my hesitation to help. Why had not just stooped down and begun helping him? But even more, I think I was ashamed because I’ve lived down the street from this man for almost 17 years and I have no idea who he really is.   

And the fear… Well, I’m not good with anger. I have struggled with that fear all my life. When people get angry they lose control.  Situations get out of control.  I think I fear that loss of control most of all.  I think I fear being not only other people losing control, but  that somehow their loss of control will envelop me as well.  It is --I think-- a fear of being completely and utterly vulnerable.  That morning I returned I let go of my habitual route, and came home by a way I had not gone. And in doing so, I saw things –my neighborhood, my neighbor and myself—in a different way. 

Every once in a while, it is important to do that, to break your habits, change your way of thinking, take a different route home.  It may not be easy, and you may start to feel vulnerable, but do it anyway. Even if you are afraid.  Perhaps, especially if you are.